


the good place (is next to you)

by starklystar



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Good Place (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Alternate Universe - The Good Place (TV) Fusion, Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M, Pre-2008 Tony Stark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-06
Updated: 2020-06-06
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:15:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24572134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starklystar/pseuds/starklystar
Summary: “I mean,” Tony tries his best shot at breaking the tension, “if you’re stuck with the wrong guy, at least I’m sexier than your real deal?”Tony died and got sent to some sort of heaven, with Captain America as his soulmate. Except, they got the wrong Anthony Stark, and to stay in the Good Place, Tony must convince Steve to teach him how to be good.-x-(watching The Good Place is not necessary to understand this AU, but will help)
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 34
Kudos: 248





	the good place (is next to you)

**Author's Note:**

> This will have more chapters/a sequel but reads as a standalone for now :)
> 
> Pre-2008 Tony means that Tony has A LOT of character growth to go through, so just a warning that Tony's thought process is going to be snarky and all over the place.
> 
> And, I hope you all are safe, doing as well as you can, and doing as much good as you can <3

“Tony? Come on in.”

Tony blinks, the large green letters staring back at him. ‘ _Welcome!_ ’ they say, ‘ _everything is fine._ ’ He’s sitting on a couch. To his left, there’s a door, and the dark-haired man who’d greeted him. There are no other doors, his own mind is frighteningly blank of memories. He remembers getting on a plane with Rhodey, something about a piece for Vanity Fair, and then –

Nothing.

There’s no other way out of the room, so Tony decides his best bet is to follow the man, who looks trustable enough with a suit and a tie. What choice does he have, anyway?

Stepping through the door, he finds it’s… and office. There are plants by the windows, a large wooden table with a chair on either side, a bowl of paperclips, a large portrait of a woman – Tony recognizes her, a fellow scientist, Jane Foster – and the dark-haired man waves at one of the seats, taking a seat of his own.

“Hi, Tony. I’m Loki. How are you?” Loki greets again as Tony sits across him with a frown.

None of this makes sense. “I’m great,” he squints at Loki. Who would even name their child after a Norse god? Why the paperclips? Where is the tech? Tony shakes his head, there are more pressing questions. “One question. Where am I? Who are you? And what’s going on?”

Loki nods sagely, as if he’s been asked a thousand times before. “Right. You, Anthony Stark, are dead. Your life on Earth has ended, and you are now in your next phase of your existence in the universe.”

“Cool,” Tony tries to understand. He doesn’t remember dying. And he’d like to repeat that none of this makes sense. He died and now he’s in an _office?_ A room he’s spent most of his adult life trying to escape from? Is this some form of hell specially designed for him? “How did I die?”

“Well, in cases of traumatic deaths, we erase the memory to allow for a peaceful transition,” Loki explains with a smile. In Tony’s very private opinion, the guy – who, now that he thinks of it, is likely some supernatural being or even the _real_ Loki himself – is far too cheerful about his death.

Tony raises an eyebrow.

Loki sighs. “Are you sure you want to hear?”

He nods. He’s crashed a car drunk before, he’s been on the receiving end of Pepper’s pepper spray, he’s grown up in a house with _Howard_. What gets more traumatic than that?

“Alright. So you were returning from your weapons demonstration in Afghanistan. You were in a Humvee, and a group of terrorists attacked your convoy with the weapons you created. A bomb you built blew up in your face, and the shrapnel pierced your heart – ”

“Okay,” Tony cuts in. He was wrong. But at least he has no memories of it. “Is Rhodey alright?”

“They’re grieving you, but he’s safe.”

Tony lets out the breath he didn’t know he was holding (he’s dead, does he even have to breathe?). It settles deep inside, suddenly, that everything’s over for him. When he was alive, he had a mountain of regrets taller than Everest, but now? Now Tony wishes he’d thanked Pepper one more time, hugged Rhodey before they’d gotten on separate cars.

Still, Rhodey’s alive. And despite all of Tony’s regrets, it’s a relief to know that Rhodey might finally get to ask that Air Force captain out, now that he won’t have to spend days catering to Tony’s whims.

“Right. O-kay,” Tony stretches the ‘o’, his frown growing. Loki waits patiently, likely familiar with the confusion of the dead, until Tony speaks again, “so. Am I – is this – ” he points up, “or – ” he points down with a wince.

He’s never been particularly religious, and maybe this is when all his, admittedly considerable, sins come back to bite at him. He _knows_ he isn’t the best person. There are a lot of things he’s taken for granted, a lot of things he wishes he didn’t do, but he can’t be entirely bad, can he? He thinks back to that last interview with Carrie? Christine? Stark Industries actually _did_ make bricks and beams for baby hospitals, Tony had designed some of them quietly behind Obie’s back. 

As Tony fidgets in his seat, Loki grins wide. He spreads his arms wide, almost excitedly. “You’re okay, Anthony. You’re in the Good Place.”

 _Okay_ , Tony finally finds it in himself to return Loki’s smile. He’s in the Good Place, which doesn’t sound bad.

Whatever this afterlife holds, he can face it. Stark men are made of iron and all that rubbish.

He takes a deep breath.

“Well, that’s good.”

* * *

Tony takes that back. It’s _not_ good. The entire neighbourhood that Loki apparently designed as the so-called architect is a paradise out of a children’s book. A quaint little village with cobbled stones, a clam chowder fountain, a dozen or more frozen yoghurt shops but no donut shops, and residents holding hands everywhere? From the corner of his eye, he sees a man kissing some yoghurt off a woman’s nose, the giggling couple seated at the outdoor veranda of yet _another_ frozen yoghurt shop.

“Every blade of grass, every detail, every ladybug has been precisely designed and calibrated for its residents,” Loki ends his rambling about the village, arms spread wide around them.

It was difficult not to tune out the man after he started talking about the names of each of the five hundred or so residents in the village. Tony could hardly remember the names of his Board of Directors, much less all those of his new neighbours.

A few centuries or so stuck with the same people might do the trick for Tony to remember them all, but if Tony knows anything about calibration, it’s that this neighbourhood is certainly _not_ calibrated for him.

The architect of the place is still gazing expectantly at Tony, as if waiting for praise that’s certainly not going to come from Tony. He’s always wanted perfection in his designs, never settling for any less, and this _Loki_ is not getting any approval from Tony for this nauseatingly sweet village with not a phone in sight.

Instead, Tony settles on the only thing in his head. “This place needs a _major_ revamp. It doesn’t feel like a Good Place.”

Not the best choice to insult the architect deity of the afterlife, but Tony hates mediocre work. It itches at him to change things, to make things better, and as arrogant as he might be to think he can do better than the immortal beings, he still stands by his point. Everything is _off_. And not in a good way.

Loki stares at him. Tony stares defiantly back.

“How do you _always_ figure it out?” the architect eventually growls, throwing his hands in the air. He points an accusing finger at Tony. “I’ve tried _everything_ and it never goes right. And it’s always you.”

“What do you mean it’s always me?” Tony crosses his arms. It’s not his fault if the architect assigned to his afterlife is lousy at the job.

“Nevermind,” Loki sighs, rubbing at his temples, “we can do this one more time. Thanos doesn’t have to know.”

“Who’s Than – ”

Loki snaps his fingers.

* * *

“Tony? Come on in.”

Tony blinks, the large green letters staring back at him. ‘ _Welcome!_ ’ they say, ‘ _everything is fine._ ’ He’s sitting on a couch. To his left, there’s a door, and the dark-haired man who’d greeted him. There are no other doors, his own mind is frighteningly blank of memories. He remembers getting on a plane with Rhodey, something about a piece for Vanity Fair, and then –

Nothing.

He follows the man into the next room.

“Hi, Tony. I’m Loki. How are you?” Loki greets again as Tony sits across him with a frown.

None of this makes sense. “I’m great,” he squints at Loki. Who would even name their child after a Norse god? Why the paperclips? Where is the tech? Tony shakes his head, there are more pressing questions. “One question. Where am I? Who are you? And what’s going on?”

Loki nods sagely, as if he’s been asked a thousand times before. “Right. You, Anthony Stark, are dead. Your life on Earth has ended, and you are now in your next phase of your existence in the universe.”

* * *

“You were returning from your weapons demonstration in Afghanistan. You were in a Humvee, and a group of terrorists attacked your convoy with the weapons you created. A bomb you built blew up in your face, and the shrapnel pierced your heart – ”

* * *

“Right. O-kay,” Tony stretches the ‘o’, his frown growing. Loki waits patiently, likely familiar with the confusion of the dead, until Tony speaks again, “so maybe my biggest question. Am I – is this – ” he points up, “or – ” he points down with a wince.

Loki grins wide. “You’re okay, Anthony. You’re in the Good Place.”

 _Okay_ , Tony finally finds it in himself to return Loki’s smile. He’s in the Good Place, which doesn’t sound bad.

Whatever this afterlife holds, he can face it.

He takes a deep breath.

“Well, that’s good.”

* * *

“Every blade of grass, every detail, every ladybug has been precisely designed and calibrated for its residents,” Loki ends his rambling about the village, arms spread wide around them.

The architect of the place gazes expectantly at Tony, as if waiting for praise that’s certainly not going to come. Tony has designed _cupholders_ that are more precisely calibrated than this place.

Instead, Tony settles on the only thing in his head. “There are a lot of frozen yoghurt places.”

Loki laughs, delighted. “That’s the one thing we put in every neighbourhood. People _love_ frozen yoghurt.” He places a hand on Tony’s shoulder, and Tony resists the urge to brush it off as Loki points to the open field they’ve reached.

There are rows and rows of chairs in front of them filling up with people, the field resembling a small, outdoor amphitheater. Tony shudders at the sight of the growing crowd, Loki as unfazed as ever to Tony’s dread of sitting still.

“You’re going to have a lot of questions,” the architect continues, “but right now, better grab a seat, Tony. Movie’s about to begin.”

* * *

‘ _Hello everyone!_ ’ Loki’s too cheerful voice and too excited face appears in the hologram in front of them, towering up high into the sky, projected from seemingly nothing. Seated in one of the middle rows, Tony frowns. Maybe, he was too harsh about the lack of technology in this place – who would blame him, though? The architect had a _bowl_ of _paperclips_ – as soon as this thing was over, Tony’s going to figure out how technology functions in this place. He needs a phone, a tablet, _something._

On the screen, Loki waves, his green bowtie bright against the whiteness of the background. ‘ _Welcome to your first day in the afterlife. You were all, simply put, good people. During your time on Earth, every one of your actions had a positive or negative value. Every sandwich you ate, every time you bought a magazine, every single thing you did had an effect that rippled out over time and ultimately created some amount of good or bad_.’

Tony frowns at the numbers on the screen. If buying a trashy magazine was worth negative 0.75 points, how bad was sleeping twelve for twelve with last year’s Maxim cover models? 

‘ _When your time on Earth has ended, we calculate the total value of your life using our perfectly accurate measuring system. Only the people with the highest scores, the true cream of the crop, get to come here, to the Good Place_.’

It’s not a lie that Tony is the cream of the crop. He’s a billionaire, he holds the record for longest title-holder of _Sexiest Man Alive_ , six years in a row, which is longer than any of the Hemsworths have ever held it, but he has a sinking feeling that his life isn’t the cream of the crop Loki is referring to.

He takes a quick glance around. Everyone around him seems perfectly content, perfectly normal, and perfectly not-out-of-place. Also, no one seems to recognize him, which is as strangely pleasant as it is disturbing.

‘ _What happens to everyone else, you ask? Don’t worry about it_.’

He scoffs. That isn’t the most reassuring thing, and then he shudders. If _this_ is the Good Place, then how horrible must the Bad Place be?

‘ _You are here because you lived one of the very best lives that could be lived._ ’

Swallowing hard, Tony taps his feet, unable to stay quiet for too long. He wants his sunglasses, wants to do something other than be seated next to Mr and Mrs Perfect who look like they really _have_ spent their entire lives rescuing puppies. Bouncing his knees, he picks the edges of his grey plaid shirt, wondering again at the fashion tastes of the angels, architects, designers or whomever of this place.

‘ _And you won’t be alone. Your true soulmate is here too._ ’

Oh no. No. Nope. That’s too much for the day.

Tony is _not_ accepting that magic rubbish.

He feels a rising panic. He doesn't want _love,_ he has never ~~deserved~~ _wanted_ it. Back on Earth - and _God_ , is Tony already accepting this ridiculous fever dream neighbourhood as real? - he could have married anyone he wanted, but he hadn't.

A thread of his shirt comes out, unraveling more and more as he pulls at it, desperate for a distraction. Tony barely manages to clamp down on the hysterical laugh bubbling next to his panic. He's managed to ruin heaven's clothes. 

If he causes an uproar in heaven by leaving the welcome ceremony, will he be sent to hell? To the Bad Place?

‘ _That’s right. Soulmates are real_.’

Two other people enter the screen, smiling so sweetly at each other that something aches in Tony.

He covers it up with a scowl.

There has never been a place for that eight-year-old who begged Jarvis for flowers, who dreamt of someone, somewhere, to sweep him off his feet and gently kiss his cheek. There has never been a place for those childish fantasies, and there is no hope that any of these god-awfully perfect people would be able to stand Tony’s craziness.

Nor does Tony want a saint as a soulmate, anyway.

‘ _One of the other people in your neighbourhood is your actual soulmate, and you will spend eternity together._ ’

Behind him, someone coos and sighs longingly. Tony hopes that his soulmate is not whoever that is.

‘ _So welcome to eternal happiness_ ,’ on-screen Loki says with a little bow.

‘ _Welcome to the Good Place._ ’

* * *

“So who’s in the Bad Place that would surprise me?” Tony asks Loki as they walk… somewhere. Everything is green, sprawling fields of grass with the occasional house on each side of the stone path. He hadn’t paid too much attention, much more invested in Loki’s assurances that Jarvis did indeed make it to the Good Place, but cannot visit for some neighbourhood stability reasons. 

Frankly, Tony thinks it’s another design flaw in the neighbourhood that he’ll have to fix when he manages to get some bearings on this ridiculous place.

He asks the question because it has become dreadfully apparent that he doesn't quite fit with the rest of the residents. Tony is unbearably wound up, full of tension as his mind races to catch up with the absence of logic in the afterlife, pretending to put on a smile so Loki doesn't doubt the legitimacy of his place here.

He isn't a bad _bad_ person, but he'll admit that he isn't the best person either. However, as willingly as Tony might lecture Loki about the horrible design of the place, he's less willing to tell the architect that he doesn't belong here. Because not belonging here would mean he belongs in the Bad Place. Which sounds... bad.

“Mozart, Picasso, Elvis. Howard Stark." Loki shrugs, waving at a passing couple, "Florence Nightingale got close but didn’t make it.”

Huh. Howard was being tortured for eternity. As much as Tony had disliked his father, the thought sent his stomach rolling. If his father didn’t get into the Good Place, how did Tony do it?

He hears himself disbelievingly question, “and _I_ made it here?”

“Anthony!” Loki stops walking to grab Tony’s arm, meeting his eyes dead center. “You were a lawyer who got innocent people off the death row. You spent three years volunteering for children in Switzerland. You’re special.”

Tony stares. _What?_

The only time he ever set foot in Switzerland was that regrettable science conference with the exploding botanist lady he fervently hopes doesn’t have a secret child.

Loki had said Tony was coming home from a weapons demonstration when he died. From what he can trace back in his vague memories, that sounds about right. So how did they mess up his identity?

There is either something very, very wrong with this place or something very, very wrong with Tony.

“And by the way, welcome to your new home.”

Loki turns him around with a hand on his shoulder, and he’s met with a cacophony of garish colors, reds and yellows and blues painted all over a very oddly shaped… house? Circle windows, trimmed bushes, flowerbeds, they mock Tony with their idyllic peacefulness.

For all he knows, he might be in some messed up, alcohol-induced fever dream.

Except, there is no possible way his mind could conjure anything as deformed as the building in front of him. Even Hammer wouldn’t be able to design something so pitiful.

“It’s perfect, isn’t it?” the architect nods, not bothering to check Tony’s reaction.

 _Perfectly ugly_ , Tony thinks, but he doesn’t say it out loud. Something doesn’t feel right, and the voice of reason that suspiciously sounds like Rhodey warns him to take this carefully.

Grinning again, Loki explains, tugging Tony along to the door of the horrible thing. “You see, in the Good Place, every person gets to live in a home that perfectly matches their true essence.”

* * *

“It’s decorated in the primitive Icelandic style. And we put up pictures of your favorite clowns from Earth.”

 _Oh god._ Wait. Does god even exist?

Slowly, with immense dread, Tony turns to where Loki’s pointing. And he finds there really _is_ a corner of the house that is filled with portraits of smiling clowns, each with their own light shining from below them, adding to the ghastliness of their faces.

He’s supposed to spend an eternity in this house? The bed is on a tall platform that has no stairs to get on it – Tony’s not _short_ , he just doesn’t like the effort of having to climb – the sofa has no back, and his trained eyes glare at the wrong height of the coffee table.

Whoever human rights lawyer Anthony Stark was, he must have been even more mentally disturbed than Tony to think that this house is the epitome of paradise.

Tony’s saved from having to come up with an empty compliment by a knock on the door.

A blond peeks his head in, wearing another goddamn plaid shirt.

“Ah, Steve!” Loki exclaims, “come on in.”

Steve does come in, and Tony barely keeps himself from whistling. If Tony had thought those baby-blue eyes were something else, the rest of Steve was an entire universe in itself. The strength of those toned arms, the size of those shoulders, the curve of that chiseled jaw.

As confused as he is about this ordeal, Tony still has aesthetic taste, thank you very much.

“Anthony, I’m Steve Rogers,” Steve pauses to smile, nervously wringing his hands, “and you’re my soulmate.”

He blurts it out like he can’t keep it inside him anymore.

And the worst thing is, he actually sounds pleased by it.

Tony feels, for the first time in this cursed place, like a horrible, horrible person. He stands by his previous observation, but has to acquiesce that whoever human rights lawyer Anthony Stark was, he must have done something very right to deserve a soulmate as delectable as Steve.

As sincere as Steve.

“Okay,” he feels himself nod. Steve looks expectantly at him, so Tony does what he’s always done best back on Earth. He plasters on his best smile and throws his arms wide, striding over to Mr Soulmate, “come here.”

They hug. Awkwardly.

But that’s how people meet for the first time, right? It won’t be too suspicious? They’re soulmates but they’re strangers. They can’t be expected to click instantly?

And Steve is really, really warm beneath his touch. It would be easy to lean forever into that broad wall of muscle, firm and gentle all at once, and Loki – Loki doesn’t suspect a thing.

“Right,” Loki claps his hands together, “I’ll let you two get to know each other.”

* * *

“So, Steve, tell me about yourself.”

They’re seated at the horrible sofa which has nothing to lean back on, so Tony hunches in on himself, taking a tissue from the box on the coffee table, ripping it apart and idly wondering whether the box refills itself. On the other end of the sofa, clearly vibrating with nervous energy, is Steve, who looks vaguely disapproving at the shreds of tissue now littering the floor.

Tony takes another tissue, daring Steve to make a comment.

“Well,” Steve clears his throat, “I was born in Brooklyn, I was really tiny and sick, but I took a government program with this, uh, serum? And I fought in the War and – ”

“Holy motherforker,” Tony curses. He knows that story. Wait. “Forker. Why can’t I say it? Fork – ”

“There’s a filter in this place. Some residents don’t like the language, so, you can’t,” Steve explains, and the tissue in Tony’s hands is forgotten.

 _Steve Rogers_ , that was the name Tony had grown up hearing. Tony should be ashamed of calling himself a genius. Steve's face, it’s unsettlingly familiar now that Tony's connected the dots. In his defense, he’s mostly seen it on posters and comic books, covered by a cowl, the red, white and blue uniform very catchy compared to the toned down shirt the man’s now wearing.

“Okay, okay, but _you’re_ Captain forking America?” Tony needs to confirm, because he was trying to come up with a way to stay in the Good Place despite the obvious administrative mishap of the afterlife, but spending an eternity with Captain America - Tony essentially has two choices: lie to Captain America for the rest of time, or get him to lie for Tony for the rest of time. Both sounds difficult to achieve.

It’s ridiculously selfish, but sue him.

He doesn’t want to go to the Bad Place.

Steve scratches the back of his head, embarrassed and uncomfortable. “Yeah. I’ve been waiting a really, really long time to get to meet you, and I’m looking forward to getting to know you.”

 _Oh boy,_ Tony thinks. This might just be hell. Maybe hell would be better than this. Maybe this is retribution for his refusal to go to therapy, all his pent up childhood traumas leading up to being forced to live forever with Captain America. Preferable to spending the rest of his existence in the same place as Howard, but only marginally. If Steve can’t be trusted to lie for Tony, can Tony really do this? Lie forever to the man in front of him?

“Do you have your superstrength now?” he prods to delay the inevitable spiraling of his thoughts. It’s a concern of vital scientific importance that the inventor in Tony needs to know. Also, it might make their nights more exciting and this moral dilemma less burdensome, too.

Nodding, Steve clears his throat. “I kept everything from the serum when I died. What about you? Tell me a little about yourself?” He cranes his head around the house, gaze landing on the portrait corner with a grimace. “Other than that you like clowns, of course.”

“I was born in Manhattan,” Tony starts with a wince of his own, because that’s safe enough to say. “I went to MIT.” MIT had a law department, right? Going by Steve’s eager expression, which really makes this so much harder, he’s still safe. What else can he say? _Oh!_ “Then I moved to California. Where I did things.”

Granted, it’s not the best speech Tony’s given. Personally, he thinks he has a very justifiable excuse for his very valid reasons to be panicking.

Steve nods again, less sure this time but still full of sincerity and now with awe. “Anthony, you must have done more than just _things_ to get here – ”

“Tony. Call me Tony, please,” he cuts in, because he can’t take much more of that sincerity.

“Tony,” Steve repeats with a shy quirk of his lips, “it sounds nice. Fits you better.”

That is… Tony can imagine how easy it would be to pretend. To fall for that softness, that kindness in the Captain’s voice. The warmth of their earlier hug, the happiness radiating from the man, the fantasy of it creeps into Tony’s heart, wondering what it would be like to be loved, to be cared for, by a man as true as Captain America.

But Steve isn’t here for Tony, he’s here for a soulmate, for the idea of an eternal companion.

He’s not here because he truly cares about Tony.

Above all else, that thought hammers in what he has to do. It lets him think past the façade of Steve’s words, mind running past a thousand possible plans until he finds one that could work, if his math his right. Which it usually is.

With a deep breath, Tony gathers his courage. No matter how much he hated the man, no matter how messed up everything’s been, Steve doesn’t deserve to believe in this lie. Tony can’t stand to watch Steve try to uselessly befriend – or god forbid, fall in love with – him because they’re not soulmates.

Tony wouldn't be able to bear falsely receiving so much affection, knowing it was never meant for him and never will be. He's desperate to stay in the Good Place, but not _that_ desperate for love.

He refuses to be that desperate.

As it is, he already finds himself itching to run away from Steve's sincerity, which is too much, too soon. Tony can't imagine receiving this false love forever, knowing that he's stealing someone else's place.

Taking yet another tissue, he rips it apart, needing to _do_ something with his hands.

He isn’t the miraculously perfect person who somehow managed to land Captain America as the perfect match to their heart. And yet, despite his imperfections, Tony can’t lie forever in the face of that earnestness, the depth of that affection, as if saying Tony’s name really does make the man happy.

Steve doesn’t deserve to be saddled with a fake soulmate forever.

No. The longer it takes for Tony to confess the truth, the more angry and hateful Steve will grow when everything inevitably comes to light.

Besides, Tony still has a conscience, and he’s using it.

Except – “Steve, you’re never going to hurt me, right?”

“What? Of course not,” the Captain replies, taken aback.

That’s good. Tony bites his lip, debating with himself. “Okay. Swear it. Promise me you won’t ever betray me or cause any harm to me for _any_ reason.”

He’s never been that decent of a man, anyway, he spent his life manipulating people, wheedling money out of their pockets and into his company’s bank accounts. So why does tricking Steve feel so wrong?

“Tony,” Steve reaches across the sofa to gather Tony’s hands in his, the tissue crumpled between their fingers. Tony can feel his hands grow clammy in the tightness of the grip. “I swear that I will never say or do _anything_ to cause you _any_ harm.”

Steve says it so easily, so simply and blissfully unaware of the truth.

He says it like he believes it, like he would really do anything if Tony wished it, and it breaks Tony’s heart a little to know that he’ll never get that kind of devotion.

He has to remind himself again that he’s not supposed to be here, and Steve’s not his soulmate. Never will be.

What he can get, he _will_ take, though, and that promise is something he’ll cling on to.

“Good,” he nods, shaking off Steve’s grip and standing up nervously. If he stays seated for another moment, he'll end up climbing the walls in frustration.

One last chance to back out, he tells himself, it isn't too late to bury the truth forever.

Tony turns to face Steve, the man smiling up at him from the sofa. He thinks of all the lies he’s lived, his regrets and his mistakes. He’s tired of pretending to be someone he’s not, the cameras flashing, Obie demanding more weapons when there was something else Tony could make.

In the end, he died still pretending.

If he tells Steve the truth, he won’t have to pretend anymore. Well, he’ll have to pretend to the neighbours and Loki, but he can hide away in this abomination of a building, claim that Steve is a platonic soulmate.

Most importantly, he’ll hopefully have someone on his side. He doesn’t have to be alone. Steve promised, after all.

“Right, so,” he starts to say, but how does he put it delicately for Steve to understand? ‘ _Heaven messed up, I’m not actually your soulmate, wanna bang it out?’_ doesn’t quite have the flare he needs, nor does ‘ _Mr Rogers, I regret to inform you that heaven’s admin is less perfect than you_.’

He decides there really is no way to put it delicately, nor does he want to. His pent up frustrations, his confusion, the stress of _dying -_ Tony has never quite been a man of restraint, and the more the clowns grin at him, the more he feels like ripping his hair out, until the dam breaks and he bursts out, “I never went to Switzerland. I was never a death row lawyer. I made weapons. I got killed by my own weapon which is some karmic bullshirt," he throws his hands in the air, "and I. Hate. Clowns.”

Tony points accusingly at the framed atrocities behind him, punctuating each word with an angry gesture before throwing his hands in the air in front of Steve. “Someone royally forked up. I’m not supposed to be here.”

“Wait, what?”

“In my defense, I was very good at making weapons.” Tony backtracks. He might have gone too fast with the truth, because Steve is growing pale in a way that shouldn’t be possible for heaven. Tony crosses his arms stubbornly, sullenly. “I was the world’s top weapons manufacturer, the richest _and_ sexiest man alive.”

Steve grows paler. “Okay, but that’s worse. You get how that’s worse, right?”

“I mean,” Tony tries his best shot at breaking the tension, “if you’re stuck with the wrong guy, at least I’m sexier than your real deal?”

On the sofa, Steve looks torn between sighing and laughing and screaming. Tony counts that as a win. At least the man isn’t rushing to throw Tony out of this nightmare house and go running to Loki.

After another second, Steve pinches the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes. “Is your name even Tony?”

“Yes, it is.”

“Did you go to MIT?”

“I have three doctorates.”

“From MIT?”

“Yes!” Tony hisses. “I have other honorary degrees from other places, but that’s not the point. I didn’t lie about myself.”

Steve raises an eyebrow, clearly judging Tony. He stands up to pace the length of the room, making Tony slightly dizzy as he struggles to stay quiet, waiting for Steve’s verdict.

Captain America doesn’t break promises, that’s been in every single story Tony has ever heard of the man, and he’s hoping it sticks in the afterlife because otherwise, he’s going to be in a bigger mess than that Spring Break with Rhodey. He shuts that train of thought down, edging away from the painful realisation that he might never get the chance to see Rhodey ever again for eternity. 

There are more pressing things for him to focus on.

“You’ll keep it a secret, right, Cap? We can lay low, spend a few nights out a month getting some fondue or frozen yoghurt or whatever, be seen together enough in public not to raise questions.”

Steve falters in his steps, sending a boggled look at Tony that would have been amusing if Tony’s entire fate didn’t rest on the decision. Which makes the next words from his mouth even more surprising.

“Are you _Howard Stark’s son_?” Steve demands, marching over to Tony.

“Yeah,” Tony answers shortly.

“Oh god.”

Tony laughs bitterly. “Now you’re getting it, buddy.”

Steve stares at him with an increasingly horrified look, and Tony bristles.

He isn’t _that_ bad. He has some redeeming qualities. Not as perfect as Captain America, but not too lousy that he doesn’t deserve a shot at staying here rather than be tortured for eternity.

After a while of Tony putting on his best, most innocent smile, Steve shakes his head. “Come on. Let’s go.”

“What? Go where?” Tony asks, voice certainly _not_ high with panic.

Already at the door, Steve rolls his eyes. “I don’t believe anybody deserves to be tortured for eternity.” He pauses, tipping his head to one side, lips quirking up. It isn't quite a smile, but it's friendly enough. “Well, maybe Johann Schmidt deserves it.”

“Right,” Tony stays rooted to the spot, trying not to sound too hopeful.

“But you being here means another Anthony Stark is being wrongfully tortured.”

That is a very good point that Tony would like to ignore for the foreseeable future. “But you’re saving _me_ from eternal damnation,” he points out the flipside, which he _would_ like to think about for the foreseeable future, and maybe get his fake soulmate to agree with.

It goes unsaid what Steve is giving up if he agrees to hide Tony. A soulmate, eternal companionship, the perfect match he’s always wanted – Steve, who died alone, who has been waiting decades for his Anthony to come along, only to meet the wrong person entirely.

In Tony’s private opinion – which he uses to cover up the uncomfortable guilt growing in him – the Captain is gaining a more adventurous afterlife free of the one-dimensional, yoghurt-loving goody-two-shoes filling this ridiculous heaven. He barely stops himself from pointing that out, the Captain’s face too stormy for Tony’s liking.

 _Fine,_ Tony relents to himself, if he were in Steve’s shoes, he probably wouldn’t want himself as a soulmate. What _could_ Tony do to compare to Captain America, anyway? He knows enough about the Captain to understand the stories of morality were embellished, but it still stands that Tony must be a disappointment, and if he is to have _any_ chance of staying here, he needs to offer something useful, something that Steve would want.

He obviously can’t offer mindblowing sex because the Captain seems too troubled to agree to that, and he can’t exactly offer money or any inventions because Tony has no money and any inventions will likely be useless. He doesn't really know how else he can get anyone to like him. 

For a moment, the reality of it hits him hard. _I have nothing_ , Tony struggles to not laugh hysterically at that.

Who is Tony without any of the Stark legacy?

He’s been mistakenly sent to some shabby version of heaven, and he has nothing. No friends, no connections, no tools, no money. 

Nothing except his mind.

The silence is stretching too long for Tony’s liking, so he blurts out the only thought that might catch the good Captain’s sensibilities. “Look. Loki got my death right but my identity wrong. What if I’m not the only one? What if there’s something shady going on? What if you can teach me how to be good? Will that make me worthy of heaven?”

“Are you _actually_ suggesting a conspiracy theory about heaven?” Steve throws his hands in the air.

“It’s a possibility!” Tony defends himself, crossing his arms over his chest. He once convinced Pepper to let him fly halfway across the world for sushi. He can convince Steve that heaven is broken. “There’s got to be a glitch in the system,” he waves around the house to make a point. “I mean, do you _really_ want a soulmate obsessed with clowns?”

Steve purses his lips, visibly torn. “It _is_ concerning.”

“See?” he can’t stop himself from crooning triumphantly, walking over to the door to grin in Steve’s face and putting on all the charm he can muster. “You can have me – a sexier, non-clown-crazy person – and we can try to figure out the problem. You can even teach me how to be good.”

The afterlife must have done something to his charm because Steve only stares stonily at him before sighing again.

“I get it. I get that you want to stay here, but somewhere out there, my soulmate is being tortured, and if there’s a chance that you’re not the only mistake – ”

“Teach me how to be good. I’m a fast learner. One month, tops, and then we can dig around, convince whoever judges us that I can stay and your Anthony can bunk in with you. Win-win,” Tony sharply cuts in.

He doesn’t need to be called a mistake by Howard _and_ Captain America himself. That is a can of worms Tony is not prepared to open up, especially not now when he’s bargaining for his existence.

Steve shakes his head. “You can’t just turn good overnight. That isn’t how it works.”

“I didn’t say overnight. I said a month,” Tony shrugs. He really wishes he had sunglasses, or something in his hands to fiddle with. He doesn't like this feeling of being stripped raw, of having to nearly _beg_ for a chance.

“It isn't a good start to suggest letting my soulmate be tortured for another month.” Steve sounds supremely unimpressed.

Taking a deep breath, Tony tries to figure out what he can say about that. How can Tony convince Steve that this is worth it? That _Tony_ is worth Steve's soulmate and their happiness? Put that way, it sounds extraordinarily selfish. 

Steve must have some reason for staying this long without rushing to rat him out to Loki, though, and if Tony understands why, he can use that to his advantage.

 _You can do this_ , he tells himself, and the ghost of Rhodey's voice teases him: _You can do everything_.

This time, instead of shying away from the pain that comes with remembering the family he might never meet again, he lets its burning warmth wrap around him, finding strength in the knowledge that somewhere inside him, there must be a good person – the same person Rhodey, Pepper, Happy, and Jarvis had seen and loved.

He just has to find that person. And prove to Steve that he _is_ that person.

Summoning everything he can remember from those mind-numbing boarding school lessons about Aristotle and Plato, Tony prays that Captain America isn’t a philosophy nerd. "There are different definitions of goodness," he stumbles over the words, piecing them together as he goes, "in the long run, you save _two_ souls from eternal damnation and save anyone else who’s been mixed up too. We achieve more goodness as a whole."

Rubbing at his temples, Steve leans against the doorframe, muttering, “we’re getting some frozen yoghurt. I need to think.”

“Is that a yes?” Tony tries his best to keep the hope out of his voice. He hadn't been quite sure that the 'greater good' argument would work.

“No. It’s a ‘ _I need to think_ ’. Hence the yoghurt.”

“Ugh,” Tony groans. He would kill for a donut instead.

 _Be good._ This time, the reprimand comes in Pepper's voice. For once, he gives in easily to it. 

Yes, he’s relieved, even grateful, but he’s also chafing. He’s not used to being entirely at someone else’s mercy, and he doesn’t like it. Still, he concedes that he should be more gracious with the chances he's been given and with Steve's relative willingness to help.

There remains a chance that Steve would report Tony's situation to Loki. After all, promises can be broken. The better Tony is at being - or pretending to be - good, the better the chance he has at staying away longer from the Bad Place.

Walking over to the door, he tries his best to hide his scowl at the thought of going to one of the horribly quaint frozen yoghurt shops. But, he supposes that if he _is_ staying here, he should familiarise himself with the terrible dessert choices available.

Even so, he can't quite resist the urge to grumble, “you’re paying.”

“Tony,” Steve finally laughs, albeit tiredly, “it’s the Good Place. We don’t pay for anything.”

* * *

And, Tony thinks grudgingly, if there is anything truly good about this Good Place, it’s the sound of that laugh.

**Author's Note:**

> I have the second chapter of this AU drafted because fake dating?? mutual pining?? endless reboots? when they go back to their lives on earth?? and then the memory erasal part? so we have temporary amnesia coming up too and they are some of my favorite tropes but still having trouble nailing all the other characters aslkjsladk
> 
> So if you have any thoughts feel very free to tell me!
> 
> And, as always, come scream with me at starklysteve.tumblr.com :)


End file.
